


Pilgrims

by blessedharlot



Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Discussion of sexual fluids, F/M, First Kiss, Foot rubs, Heart-to-Heart, Late Night Conversations, Literal Sleeping Together, Low Protocol D/S Slow Burn, Nerd Dates, Pre-Paper and Fire, Romance, Slow Burn, Talking, post-Ink and Bone, talking about sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-07-27 14:50:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20047846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blessedharlot/pseuds/blessedharlot
Summary: In between Books 1 and 2, Scholars Khalila Seif and Dario Santiago are building careers for themselves from the Alexandrian Lighthouse... and spending a fair few nights talking late into the evening with each other. Here's one such night that includes a first for them.





	Pilgrims

**Author's Note:**

> I beg your indulgence, I needed a homophone for one moment of the story, and I don’t know Greek well enough to make it work in the language they’re actually supposed to be speaking. You’ll see it when it comes. Please forgive me. Let’s pretend in their verse, the Greek words for the two definitions are actually identical.
> 
> Yes they wear their robes to the restaurant and park. If I’d done what they did to get them, I would too.
> 
> I am approximating a park near the Lighthouse without having double checked any canon cues of such (though luckily the answer usually is that there aren’t any!). Apologies if I’ve gotten something wrong there.

Khalila exited the prayer room of the Lighthouse with her usual post-prayer sense of peace and light-heartedness. Mostly. She tried to hold on to that feeling, perhaps a bit too tightly, as she left for her evening plans. 

She crossed the Lighthouse courtyard, enjoying the cooling dusk breeze off the water, and took the road across the bay. As she walked, Khalila wondered just what exactly she was bracing herself for - the thrill of seeing Dario again, or the tension of managing their recent arguments. 

The evening streetglows were just starting to light up the neighborhood of bayside businesses, and they made the park nearby look like a jewelbox… a spray of twinkling lights against the coming darkness. Dario had promised to meet her after evening prayers, on the patio of one of the more popular eating establishments on the bay. 

The restaurant was modest - Khalila liked that - and had a large selection of food she enjoyed. As she approached the patio, she could spot Dario from afar, somehow managing to lounge gracefully in a wrought iron chair. He’d worn one of his crisp silk shirts under his robe today, the collar and cut showing off his carefully styled hair and physique.

_ He’s too handsome for his own good _ , Khalila thought, not for the first time.  _ And for mine. _

In the midst of the bustling restaurant, he was reading a Blank. While it was no doubt some content he was enjoying, it was also done for her benefit, she was certain. He was not of a habit of bringing a book everywhere he went. He wasn’t Jess, or Wolfe, or sweet Thomas.

Khalila stopped cold as a shock of feelings rushed through her. Poor Thomas. She deliberately stopped there on the sidewalk and gave herself just a moment to mourn her lost friend. Mourning was a form of love, after all, and she had dearly loved the boy. Just this morning, she had shed tears thinking of a certain conversation they’d had, and the joy in his eyes to talk about one of his inventions. She wished there was more she could do to carry on his legacy, somehow. She would have to keep praying for guidance on that issue.

Khalila wiped her eyes just as Dario looked up, and caught sight of her. She smiled, realizing just then how truly happy she was to see him again. 

He looked wary; her arriving in tears was probably an unsettling follow-up to their last contentious conversation.

She entered through the iron archway of the patio gate, noticing again how busy the place was tonight. She arrived to Dario gallantly standing up to greet her. It was then she noticed the bouquet of flowers wrapped in paper on the table. He’d brought her crocuses.

“Thank you for coming to see me,” Dario said awkwardly. “Has… has something happened?”

Khalila gave a pinched smile and shook her head, and Dario moved to pull a chair for her.

“No. Only… remembering lost friends, very suddenly,” she whispered as she took the seat.

As Dario sat down, his confused look turned to a sympathetic one.

“Of course,” he said. “Memories hit at the strangest times, don’t they?”

She nodded and looked him over. Stylish and well-groomed, of course. She didn’t mind how his gymnasium hobby was changing the fit of his shirts, this one now snug across his chest.

He had dark circles under his eyes, though, that his suddenly winsome smile didn’t cover. Was he losing sleep over her? Or work? She wondered.

His eyes searched her too. 

It had only been a few days since they spoke. She felt silly treating it as major breach. But they had never gone so long without speaking before… not since they met, not as mad as they were when they parted last time.

“Dario,” she said.

“Khalila,” he began at the same time.

They both gave a little chuckle, and a long exhale. They looked at each other for a moment, and Khalila felt both of their gazes soften.

“My heart, I am so sorry,” Dario said.

“Do you know what you’re apologizing for?” she asked, suddenly fixated on her hands on the table, wringing in frustration. 

“I was childish,” Dario said. “You’ve been tired and overworked, and I was selfish and short-sighted. You don’t know how easy it is to presume it all comes so effortlessly to you, when you’re so composed and elegant every day. As soon as you yelled at me, I could see what I’d done.”

“Then why-” 

He still didn’t know. Or he wasn’t telling her the truth. She threw up her hands. 

“You know what, it doesn’t matter,” Khalila said. “That’s enough of it. I’m tired. I was up too early today, and the day before.”

Dario looked worried.

“Let’s just leave it be,” Khalila said sadly.

“Leave it be, and…” Dario asked uneasily.

She smiled at him.

“Leave it be, and you buy me dinner,” she said.

Dario beamed.

“Yes, yes, that’s an eminently suitable deal,” he said, immediately flagging a waiter over.

  
  
They ate, and discussed impersonal topics. The weather, the upcoming city holiday, the broadest sorts of political news.  _ We’re both still wary _ , she thought,  _ of falling back into this conflict. _ Khalila watched the first stars emerge above them, and enjoyed the lights shining on the stretch of bay she could see over one shoulder. 

“I saw Brightwell today,” Dario said with a sly smile.

“Oh?” Khalila missed him too. “How is he?”

“Oh, I have no idea.”

Khalila raised her eyebrows waiting for an explanation.

“We didn’t speak,” Dario said taking a sip of ice water. “I passed the parade ground on the way to a meeting. He was-” Dario waved his hand dismissively. “Marching around. Doing whatever High Garda does. Glain was there, looking terribly competent at whatever she was doing.”

“You miss them, too,” she chided him.

Dario took a bite of his food and shrugged. “I suppose the scrubber was good for a few laughs. Still a shame about his posting.”

“Indeed,” Khalila said, frowning. “I wonder what Scholar Wolfe is up to.”

“Being watched, I suspect.”

Khalila flashed her eyes his way, and he immediately bowed his head in a conciliatory gesture.

“I’m not being flippant. I wish the man well. He’s just not likely to come out from under anyone’s thumb any time soon, now is he? No use wondering if he’s back to… whatever it is he used to do, when clearly the powers that be don’t want him doing it.”

Dario’s forced casualness covered more emotions than he was willing to admit to, Khalila knew. She decided to let it go without challenging him on it.

“You’re not wrong,” she said. 

Then she decided to fish for something else. 

“How is your work going on the Persica volumes?”

He gave a measured frown. 

“It’s going,” he said, a half-hearted wave of dismissal turning his hand.

Khalila narrowed her eyes at him.

“There’s no glamour to speak of in it,” he said lightly. “No stories to tell. Just tedious work.”

Khalila smiled ruefully. “Precisely why you hate yourself a bit for enjoying it.”

“Where’s the glory in drudgery?”

She sighed. “Did you have your interview today?”

Dario registered the risk she was taking, and his jaw tightened. But he answered.

“No,” Dario said. “It was postponed.”

She shook her head. This was perilously close to what they’d fought about, and while it burned unfinished in her heart, she wasn’t at all sure it was worth revisiting just yet.

“How is your work going?” Dario asked, trying to deflect attention off himself and the topic that had bristled them both so. “The political analysis you were doing?”

Khalila nodded. “It’s been quite the little rabbit warren of intriguing leads to follow. The analysis briefly transitioned into some work on poisons used in several political assassinations in the 19th century. From there, I dipped into a bit of chemistry, but from there, I ended up looking at some fascinating data on snakes.”

“Snakes?”

“Mhm, species all around the world. Venom content and mechanisms af attack of course, but also social behavior, ecological niche, and so forth.”

Khalila paused to take a drink of water, and to look at Dario. He was listening attentively, and it made her happy. She relaxed into the topic a bit.

“Scholar Niwaz has enjoyed observing all my little bunny trails of research, of course, but has suggested I take the content on snakes in particular, and make a lecture of it.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “Keep building your name, build broad popularity with a sexy topic. Get noticed.”

“Snakes are a sexy topic?”

“Snakes are very slinky,” he grinned. “And danger is arousing.”

She chuckled. “I think it would be enjoyable if nothing else. But I need to check for any herpetology experts currently active on lecture circuits first.”

She didn’t say, but Dario would know why. She didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes.

“Sometimes you must look after yourself, treasured one,” Dario replied, with a hint of chiding to it. “It would be a good opportunity.”

_ Was he still really this selfish?  _ she thought.  _ Is this behavior I wish to live with, choices I wish to tether myself to? _

“This place is very loud and busy,” she said, suddenly tired of the restaurant.

“Yes,” Dario replied. “Why don’t we move to the park? There’s fewer people. And fewer lights.” He gave one of his more theatrical leers that made Khalila roll her eyes.

She picked up her beautiful crocuses. He left enough money on the table to cover the meal and a generous tip, and they left.

Dario found a soft, dry knoll of grass that faced toward the bay. Khalila sat crosslegged, while Dario draped himself down on his back next to her, his robe pooling black around him. Both of them faced the inky, glow-rimmed darkness of the water.

Khalila took a moment to feel the sea breeze lifting the edges of her scarf, and to watch it sending the crocus petals quivering in her lap. She looked up to find new sprays of stars visible since she last looked. She turned to see if Dario had seen them too, and found him skygazing as well. And looking dashing while he did it.

"Is there a single instant as you lay there on the grass,” she asked with humor, “that you are not keenly aware of how handsome you are?"

His eyes sparkled as he tried to keep his mouth from turning up at the ends. "It is a burden I will bear for the pleasure of my future wife."

"It is a burden she will bear to put up with your vanity."

“Is it a moral failing to know I’m easy on the eyes?" Dario laughed. "It doesn’t mean I consider myself tolerable in any other way.”

The feeling of playfulness gave way to some exasperation in Khalila. "Can you not simply be a human being with flaws and strengths? Must you be at the top of the hill or at the bottom of the heap?"

Dario sat up as she spoke. "Status is a hierarchy," he said. "And I know where I stand." Then he performed a seated bow and put his forehead nearly to her knee.

"I’m not a queen to prostrate yourself in front of," she said with fatigue. "Must we have a forever uneven status between us, Dario?"

"My desert flower-"

"You must stop this condescending language!"

Khalila was startled at her own outburst, and immediately regretted it… though not quite enough to apologize for it. For his part, Dario smoothed his shirt, and then brought his knees up to lean his arms on them. His head was now the same height as hers, she noticed. That wasn't an accident, she thought.

"I search only for the most chaste language I have,” he said seriously, “to describe an all-consuming passion to spend every day of my life serving you.”

Khalila took in his words, and grappled with his meaning. "I will not submit to condescension. You don't have to submit to a lower status. We can be equals, Dario.” Her stomach lurched. “I cannot tell you how the thought of a hierarchical nature to my most intimate-"

"What if there’s another sort of submission possible?"

His face was alight with something she couldn’t explain.

"What other kind of submission would there be?" she asked wearily.

Dario struggled for words.

"I don’t know," he said finally, eyes dark and serious. "But I know I want to be both your equal, and your servant."

Khalila was at a loss as to how to reply to that. 

She reached for a stray lock of his hair that she knew would annoy him, being so out of place, and she brushed it behind his ear. His gaze bore into her - hungry in some deeper way than lust - and her body welcomed it with a shiver.

"Are you cold?" Dario said. "The breeze has certainly picked up. Why don’t we move inside?"

Khalila nodded. It was as good a reason as any to find some privacy.

"You mentioned an interest in the  _ Arthashastra, _ it’s in my office vault,” she said. “Would you like to look at that now?"

"Marvelous!” he smiled, obviously noticing she was asking for his continued presence. “Yes, I would.”

They stood and left the open grass off the water. 

As they approached the side of the park closer to the Lighthouse, they came to a long promenade, made of large flagstones and supporting a row of tall, ornate glowposts illuminating the scene.

Khalila took Dario's hand in hers and veered them off the broad part of the flagstones, aiming for the posts instead.

"Play a game with me," she said.

"Anything," Dario said eagerly. "What game?"

"We approach these posts like so, and split to opposite sides to walk around them, each glowpost pulling us apart."

"Heaven forfend."

"We’ll meet again on the other side of the post, every time,” she smiled. “As we link hands again, I say a word."

Dario nodded and frowned thoughtfully.

"You reply with the first word that comes to your mind after hearing mine," Khalila said.

"To what purpose?"

"To learn more about you and your thoughts."

"Is this a test?” he asked. “Or a creative exercise?"

"Neither, really. It’s… to gain insight into you."

"What topics of words will you use?"

Khalila shrugged. "I’m not certain yet. Whatever springs to mind."

He paused. "I’m not certain how I’ll know the correct answer."

"No, there is no correct answer."

“Oh, it’s a lover’s game,” he said, finally smiling. “Hm. I’m not sure I believe you when you say there’s no correct answers…” he raised one eyebrow.

"The correct answer is whatever springs to your mind, Dario… or, alternatively, if you wish to focus on exposing as much of your inner life to me as possible, that’s the way to reach a correct answer."

"Oh dear. I asked for that.” He stroked his goatee. “Well."

"Are you ready?" She tugged him down the sidewalk.

"As I’ll ever be."

"Here we are."

They walked the last few steps to the first post, and their hands parted.

Khalila tried to clear her mind as she stepped around the post, and reached for Dario. They clasped hands again.

“Love,” she said.

“Marriage,” he replied.

Khalila nodded with a thoughtful frown. 

“Fair, fair answer,” she said, and they meandered further down the walkway. “You may be imagining a very specific kind of love, since I’m the one who brought it up. You may not be inclined toward marrying, say, your sister.”

“Ha!” Dario chuckled. “No, I would not.”

They approached another post, dropped hands, and walked around to meet on the other side.

“Lust,” Khalila said.

“Mmm, bed,” Dario moaned.

Khalila cocked her head as they kept walking. “It doesn’t take much to get you going, does it?”

“With you next to me, certainly not,” he said.

Another post approached and Khalila dropped her hand. On the other side she reached for him again.

“Stars,” she said.

“Eyes,” he replied.

“Very romantic.”

And another post. They were almost halfway down the promenade.

“Faith,” she said.

“Priest,” Dario said.

“Defaulting to Catholicism,” Khalila said, trying to wear a stern expression.

Dario shrugged. “Habit. You do want me to be honest.”

“Yes, I do,” she said

“There was a priest I knew, you remind me of him.”

“Me? Remind you of a priest?” she chuckled.

“Believing heaven can exist on earth takes the same sort of faith, regardless of all the rest.”

“Who said I want heaven on earth?”

“Don’t you?” he asked, looking amused.

Another post came, and she let go. Then they came back together.

“Career,” she said.

“Glory,” he replied, as he took her hand again.

“Glory,” she repeated. “Glory. Hm.”

They walked the next few steps in silence, as Khalila absorbed his previous answers.

Another post came. They broke away and returned to each other again.

“Submission,” she said seriously, offering her hand.

He took it. “Trust,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze.

Khalila stood silent at that, a slight shiver of recognition running through her. What she was recognizing, she wasn’t sure.

“I do believe it’s my turn now,” Dario said emphatically.

Khalila began to object, then decided against it.

“Turnabout is fair play,” she said, bowing her head.

They walked slowly, and Dario gave her a sly sort of smile.

“What are you planning?” she demanded.

He shook his head. “Nothing at all,” he said. “Just pleased to make you think.”

“Hm,” she said. “Not sure that look on your face is a good thing.”

Dario’s face broke into a very happy grin. And another post came.

“Green,” Dario said.

“Spring,” Khalila replied.

He cocked an eyebrow and nodded as he took in her answer. They walked silently to the next post, broke away and returned to each other.

“Smile,” he said.

She felt herself smile at the word.

“Villain,” she said, blinking immediately at her choice.

Dario blinked back in surprise.

“Villain?” Khalila asked herself.

“You’ve been reading Scholar Shakespeare again, haven’t you?” Dario said.

Khalila took in a breath of recognition.

“‘Smile, and smile, and be a villain!’” she said with a gentle mock rage.

“Should I take that answer personally?” Dario grinned.

“Almost certainly,” she giggled.

His eyes sparkled as she turned away to walk herself to the next post. Khalila passed it, then waited until Dario caught up and took her hand.

"Up," he said.

"Heights," she replied.

He nodded, watching her with soft eyes and they walked to the next post.

"Hatred," he asked.

"Hm... fear," she said.

He nodded.

They walked, and reached another post.

“Faith,” he said. 

“Love,” she replied, with a smile.

Dario returned her smile softly. They stood still and kept hold of each other’s hands..

“Love,” he said.

Khalila meant to bring her gaze to his eyes, but she got distracted - not for the first time - by his lips.

"Worry," she said quietly.

She took her free hand and smoothed the placket of his shirt. As she felt his hand warm on her cheek, she closed her eyes and leaned into it. 

_ This feels absurdly like home _ , she thought.

Then she pulled herself away and turned them toward the next post. Eyes ahead, pulling Dario along behind her, she finally looked over her shoulder at the last. The quiet adoration in his face gave her goosebumps. 

They parted at the post, walked around and grabbed each other's hands again.

“Career,” he said.

“Duty,” she replied.

He nodded in contemplation again.

They reached the final post in the row, parted, and met again.

“Dario,” he said with a lopsided smile. 

Khalila gasped. 

“Just one word? To describe you? What a cruel thing to ask!” she said with no heat. “You really are a villain, I didn’t do that to you.”

“Just one word to my word, those are the rules!”

Khalila's gaze got distracted by his mouth again.

“Trying,” she finally answered.

He giggled at first, then stopped.

“Wait. Do you mean…”

She smiled and turned away to continue walking, hands in her pockets.

“Is that…” he continued. “Is that the verb or the adjective?”

“Just one word,” she said. “Those are the rules.”

“But I need clarification on the word!”

“No.”

They left the flat stone of the promenande, and met the cobblestones at the curb of the main street in front of the Lighthouse.

Only then did she realize how much her feet hurt.

She must have winced, because Dario was immediately solicitous.

“My angel, something pains you.”

She waved him off. “I’ve just been on my feet all day. Two lectures, and walking all over campus in ill-advised shoes.”

“I wouldn’t have asked you to walk across the bay had I known that.”

“Oh, stop. Let’s get to my office, after my prayers. I’ll kick off my shoes and sit. Problem solved.”

Dario took his usual position in the lobby, outside the prayer room, holding her flowers for her while Khalila completed her night prayers. Then she brushed off his attempts to talk her out of using the stairs, and eventually they made it to her office.

After locking the office door, Khalila waved her bracelet in front of the book vault, and then entered her code. The door swung open and she moved a few scrolls out of the way and reached for the manuscript she wanted.

Khalila carefully moved the book to the workspace on her polished wood table. Then she took the flowers out of Dario’s hand.

“The  _ Arthashastra _ \--  _ A Treatise on Polity _ ,” she said. “Attributed to Kautilya.”

“When was the final redaction?” he said, sitting down in one of the table’s straight-backed chairs to examine the book.

“About 300 CE, we think.”

“The script is Devanagari.”

“In this manuscript, yes.”

“Beautiful,” he said reverently.

Khalila retrieved her vase from where it had been stored since Dario’s last gift of cut flowers reached the end of their lifespan. Dario had turned to one of her markers in the text and read from her translation.

“‘One can lose a war as easily as one can win. War is inherently unpredictable. War is also expensive. Avoid war.’ All fair points, old fellow.”

“A remarkable treatise on social welfare,” she said. “I’m enjoying it a great deal.”

“Truly extraordinary,” he marveled. “‘Causes of impoverishment and discontent,’” he read.

“Yes. The causes are primarily the king’s misuse of power, which is quite refreshing.”

“May I?” Dario pointed to some scrap paper nearby, as she rejoined him. “I believe this may touch on one of Scholar Prakesh’s current projects.”

Khalila retrieved the paper and a pen, and sat down next to him. As he worked in silence for a few minutes, Khalila mostly watched his face.

He eventually noticed her gaze with a soft double take. He winked at her, and kept working. She thought she hid her heart flutter adequately, though she couldn’t be certain.

He brought his notes to a close, admired the book a few seconds longer, then nodded to her. She reversed her process and replaced the book safely in the tiny vault.

“Now that you’ve done me that favor,” Dario said. “I must ask you for another.”

“And what is that?” she asked as she sat down again - this time on one the more comfortable armchairs closer to the window - and gratefully bent over her knees to reach for a shoe.

Dario was suddenly on his knees in front of her, his hands pressed to her own knees in supplication. 

“Please, my pearl,” he said. “Allow m e to give you a foot rub.”

“Oh my word, a foot rub?” she said. Then she sighed. “Fine, just get in a chair for it. Get up off the floor.”

He grabbed a small armchair matching hers and pulled it over for himself, bringing a pillow as well. Once she had her shoes off and was leaning back, he picked up both of her stocking feet quite carefully, and placed them on the pillow in his lap. 

Then he rather expertly began rolling one of her feet in his hands. 

Khalila hadn’t gotten a foot rub since she was a girl, and her mother needed to distract her from studying and get her to sleep. The massages had been enjoyable, and gently relaxing. Dario’s touch was different… firmer, wringing out more stress. But still careful. 

It felt like his hugs… strong and tender enough to rest inside.

With the intimacy of him massaging her sore muscles, every unsaid thing from their conflict came bubbling up in Khalila. Every point she had tried to make and was convinced she failed at. Everything she thought Dario still hadn’t heard.

Maybe touching each other like this, they’d have a kinder conversation, she thought. Maybe they had both learned something about each other’s positions.

So she decided to confront it all again.

“Who postponed your interview today?” she asked.

Dario paused before answering, and his shoulders were tensing up.

“They did. I’ve asked for a new date as soon as possible.”

“Dario, why?”

“Why what, Khalila?” he shrugged, face already tightening.

“Why do you want to leave a post you love this quickly? You don’t even want the job you’re trying so hard to get.”

“Khalila, I need to be more driven than this,” he said, with a force behind it she wasn’t sure was anger. “I must be more ambitious. I’ll never climb quickly in this position. I’ll get comfortable.”

She leaned forward and stilled his hands, making sure she had his attention.

“Dario. Do you truly want to climb faster?” she said firmly.

“Of course I do!”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“What’s right about it?”

The question caught him off guard. He blinked, staring silently and unfocused into the distance. He went back to his very tender care of her feet.

Khalila let him, leaning back, giving him time to search for an answer.

He worked silently for another minute.

“I should want to,” he finally said.

“There’s your honest voice,” Khalila replied. “Finally. This drive, it isn’t yours, is it?”

His eyes got quite vulnerable, though his voice got only a little quieter.

“Sometimes we must do what we don’t wish to do,” he said. “If we’re equals - as you say you want - I should meet your drive.”

“Should we make a commitment to one another, there is no set pattern of a career I would need from you. I want you to be happy.”

“And why would being a failure make me happy?” he said, half-heartedly. “Why would getting stuck as a mid-level bureaucrat please me? Or worse yet, never prove myself and be without means or mission in three years time, when my-” He tried to hide his pause. “- meager contract is up. Why should you be proud of that?”

“I’m proud of  _ you _ , Dario. Who you have been and the man you choose to be. Your career accomplishments are-”

“They’re not irrelevant,” Dario spat as quietly as he could. “Don’t make that argument. I know what your career means to me. I’m so proud of you, Khalila, I’m so pleased at what people think of you.”

“And if I were making myself unhappy to gain that regard, becoming some bitter shell of who I could be, would you be proud of that?”

His motivation to argue finally sputtered out.

“You adore Scholar Prakesh,” she said. “You adore working with her. I can see it in you.”

He didn’t respond, but looked at the floor.

“You don’t have to force yourself away from what brings you joy,” Khalila said. “Not in this situation, there’s no honor in it. It’s not a weakness to enjoy unglamourous work. You must allow yourself to find what truly drives you and follow that passion.”

He didn’t quite look convinced. But he did look like she might have him thinking about the subject. He certainly looked as worn out as she felt.

“As always, you are very wise, madonna.”

Khalila nearly sputtered at the new term of endearment.

“Madonna??” She laughed in shock. 

Dario gave a last few soft strokes to her first foot, looked up and grinned quietly, and began working on the other.

“Isn't that your title for Maryam?” she asked.

“She is important to Muslims too, is she not?” he said, eyes getting brighter again.

For want of an immediate response, Khalila turned a hand over in a placeholder gesture, and did it again, until she’d wrapped her head around the topic, and an answer came to her.

“She is a wise and virtuous woman, and a righteous one,” she skeptically agreed. “Allah entrusted her to be the mother of Isa. She is a good example for us all.”

“And you’re a good example for me,” he grinned.

“Dario,” she bristled.

“Please understand this is not hollow flattery,” he entreated. “Do you not see how much you’ve taught me? You and all of them. That damned postulant class.”

“What did you learn from us?”

“I learned who I could rely on. But more than that, I learned why. I made mistakes, and Jess still treated me fairly. I was myself, and… Scholar Wolfe gave me a chance to improve. I offered empty gestures, and you… understood what I meant to say.”

He gave her another of his unguarded, liquid black gazes.

“I am a better person when I am with you,” he said.

“I won’t be responsible for your soul,” Khalila warned.

“You are not. And I will never put that burden on you. But my soul is a better one for having met you. And every moment with you is another gift.”

“And what do you wish in exchange for this gift?” she demanded.

“The privilege of watching you give yourself to the world each day.”

“I will not accept groveling.”

“No,” Dario replied, looking down at her foot with a soft smile. “To grovel would be to center the whole exchange on my unworthiness, and that is not what is most important. Though I am certainly unworthy, the point is your glory. And my hope that I may serve you.”

“Dario-”

“What if my drive is to take care of you? What if my greatest possible ambition is serving you?”

“How will that bring you the glory you seek?”

“I’ll contribute to your glory, that’s what I want most.”

Khalila looked out the window without seeing anything in it.

Khalila ventured a question that had crossed her mind more than once about Dario.

“How do you wish to be seen by others?” she asked him.

He made that face - gaze turned inward - that she’d come to learn was Dario stepping away from his flippant habits of speech, and looking for something deeper or truer to tell her. 

“I had a satisfying answer before I got to the Library,” he said with a chuckle.

She smiled at his sincerity. “I don’t know is an acceptable answer,” she said.

“It depends on who the other is, I suppose,” he ventured, gazing off into the distance. “I have people I wish to make proud now.”

Then he blinked with a glimmer of recognition.

“And it’s not like trying to make my father proud,” he added.

“How is it different?” she asked.

“It… It doesn’t feel like my own death,” he said, turning his gaze back to her, with a soft curve at the corner of his mouth.

She reached for his cheek and stroked it once. Then she pulled her feet out of his diligent hands and gently squeezed his fingers in gratitude.

At that, he stood up and repositioned his chair. 

Now he still faced her - or at least, faced in the direction opposite the one she faced - but he was off to one side of her. The curved arm of his chair and hers met to create an S-shape circling them both. It also made a small barrier between them, even as the chairs brought them very close to one another.

“Have you intentionally created an impromptu tete-a-tete chair for us?” Khalila said, amused.

“I did. We have your honor to think about,” he said with mock graveness.

“My honor,” she replied. “As we’re locked together unsupervised in my office.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Minor detail,” he said. “You know and I know we’re not up to anything.”

“Do we?”

His eyes got wide. “Are we up to something?” he whispered conspiratorially.

She leaned in. “A hypothetical,” she announced.

“Oh,” he leaned away. “Here we go.”

“Excuse me?”

“I never come out of these scenarios in good shape. Never. I know I’m failing every one. If they mean anything whatsoever to you, then I have clearly already lost your affections and you only toy cruelly with me now.”

“Hypothetical -- you last through all my teasing and delays, and we marry.”

Dario shivered, and clutched his chest and gasped for air in a dramatic expression of delight.

“And we reach that fateful night where you can ravish me…” she paused, “and I’m terrible. I’m a terrible lover. You are crestfallen, and it’s clear we are forever sexually incompatible. And now married, bound together forever.”

Dario scoffed and furrowed his brow.

“That’s preposterous,” he said.

“How so?”

“I don’t know where to even begin.”

“Try.”

“First of all,” he said, with a genuine gravity this time. “Your beliefs are not some burden that my groin must carry. They are a vital part of who you are, and if I-”

He stopped himself, and pursed his lips.

“If I have ever,” he continued, “even in jest, suggested otherwise, then that was a grievous error on my part, and I apologize to you.”

His worry was so endearing, she thought.

“Secondly. The day we rightfully and honorably come to the-”

Dario stopped himself again, this time to curve himself in toward her for dramatic effect.

“Come to the entrypoint, as it were,” he murmured, “of our newly embodied life together…”

“We can be sure one entrypoint, at minimum, would certainly be involved, yes,” she said coyly.

Dario let out a soft huff of surprise at her forwardness, then continued. “On that blessed day… why in heaven’s name... why would we become forever incompatible? Forever locked into some… what, unsatisfying situation? Because one or the other of us is not meeting…” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “Not meeting some measuring stick you are not making clear at all. Why is it unchangeable?”

“Because that’s the scenario I’m giving you, Dario,” she insisted.

He held up a finger argumentatively. “I’m not questioning the authority inherent to your postulation, my love, I am answering it. I refuse to accept the situation as inalterable.”

“I reject your refusal.” She repeated her premise. “I’m not a good lover.”

“No. This is not immutable. By any measure. You misrepresent the…”

“How would one change such a thing, Dario?”

“You’re infuriating.”

“It’s an important question to ask ourselves.”

“And do you believe this premise possible for one instant, or are you maneuvering me into some lesson I need?”

Khalila clasped her hands in her lap. “I need us both to be certain that there are remedies to such an event. I would not have either of us ignore it, should it happen.”

“Name the event in question,” he demanded.

“I am an unfit-”

“No! Incorrect,” he said, echoing Scholar Wolfe. “Reframe the postulation!”

“Alright, fine, either of us is revealed as an unfit-”

“No!”

“Dario, we can’t-”

“You’re describing one of us disappointing the other. That’s all. No more nor less.”

Khalila fell silent, suddenly overwhelmed with fear.

“In this hypothetical, it’s sexual activity,” Dario said. “And you worry you will not keep my idiotic attention, and I worry I will be selfish, or... or not be capable of satisfying you.”

Dario stared at his knees and worried his interlaced fingers together.

“But there are hundreds of other potentials for disappointment that we will uncover, you and I,” he continued. “Trust me, I will find them. And while I can’t fathom how you could, common sense says it will happen once on some distant day.”

Khalila’s heart unclenched a little at his softness. She put a hand over his.

“Do you think we will avoid such a thing,” Dario asked, “if we run enough scenarios beforehand?”

Her breath caught in her chest.

“To be certain,” he said, “the thought terrifies me as well, but there must be some way through it.” Dario shrugged. “At least I hope there is, for I am far more likely to be an unsuitable lover than you are. A good lover is… is a relative term, and such a state relies heavily on…”

“On what?” she asked.

“Practice,” he said. “Training. Discipline. Just like any other set of skills.”

Khalila smiled. “Then don’t you think you’d be closer to mastering competencies than myself? You’ve had experience, after all, and I have not.”

“Then perhaps it also relies on…” he trailed off.

“On what?” she asked again.

“Teachability,” he said, a slight wince on his face.

She trailed her fingertips down his arm. “And do you consider yourself unteachable, Scholar Santiago?”

Dario’s mouth trembled for just an instant. When he spoke, his eyes shone.

“For you, my sunshine, I will be teachable.”

He took her hand between his.

“And as for you, as a lover,” he said. “There is not a world where you don’t listen to loved ones or actively pursue joy for them.”

“So then we find a way, to soften for each other,” she agreed. “Except for those times when a certain hardening for me is more greatly desired.”

Dario drew a long, slow, loud breath in through his smile. Then he exhaled quietly, and nodded.

“When we fought, last week,” she asked earnestly. “When I left our meal so abruptly, what did you do next?”

“I did what I often do after a day in your presence,” he shrugged apologetically. “I went home, pleasured myself and drifted off to sleep.”

That gave Khalila a thought.

“How do you masturbate?” she asked suddenly.

Dario froze in place, and stared at her wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

“I’m asking how you masturbate. If I am the subject, as you strongly suggest, I think I deserve to know. How do you do it?”

Dario worked his jaw for several seconds but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“I...I think of your beauty. Of… intimacy to come. And I…”

Khalila raised her eyebrows in anticipation.

When he spoke, Dario spit the words out as quickly as possible. 

“I stroke myself until im done.” Dario gave a concluding frown and smoothed the front of his shirt again.

“I’m asking the question in order to hear specifics.”

“You must be joking, Khalila,” Dario snickered nervously.

“I assure you, I am not. But if I have exhausted you with conversation already this evening, I understand.”

“Is this not highly inappropriate material for a single woman to be discussing with a man?”

“On the contrary. For the relationship we are contemplating, this is exactly what we should be talking about.”

She stared, and waited. Dario looked highly skeptical, and unconvinced of her point. But he still clearly strove to please her, and so he tried to make words come out of his mouth again.

“I…” he began, and immediately shifted his gaze from her to the floor immediately in front of him. “... take my phallus in my hand-”

“And when you think of your own organ, do you imagine the word ‘phallus’?”

“No. I’m trying to be polite.”

“You’re blushing.” 

“I am not surprised.”

“If you’re not embarrassed by calling up thoughts of me to be there with you, in that moment, I can’t imagine why you should be embarrassed to tell me about it now. We just discussed our wedding night, you sweet, precious fool.” 

She nearly lifted a hand to brush through his hair, but thought better of touching him when he was trying so hard to push through this particular discomfort.

She leaned forward, though, and moved her mouth closer to his ear. “You’re enjoying yourself, in this activity you’re describing, are you not?” she asked.

“Well. The hand wrapped around it does feel very good, yes.”

“Wrapped around what? What do you call it?” she chuckled.

“My cock, Khalila,” he finally breathed, only a little awkwardly. He looked her in the eye now.

“Is your hand wet or dry?” she asked quietly.

He smoothed his shirt a bit more, but maintained eye contact. “Dry. At first. But eventually wet is better.”

“And do you use spittle, or is there enough of your premature-”

“Precum. It’s called precum,” he raised both hands in a defense posture and his voice was quite firm. “And it is *not* premature. It’s there precisely when it’s supposed to be.”

“Apologies for any offense, my dear. Your precum, is there-”

“There’s-” He cleared his throat, but he was still meeting her gaze… even settling into it a bit now. “It’s best to use a combination of precum and wetting my hand with my tongue…”

“Assuming no other sources of lubrication are present,” she said with a small grin that felt quite wicked to her.

“Yes.” Dario smiled himself. “Certainly, assuming that, of course.”

“Mhm. And then what?”

He kept his eyes on hers - or at least on her body in general - but he paused again. 

“Oh, please keep going, Dario,” she said in a low voice. “I’ll be your priest. Pretend it’s confession if you must. Confess to me how you do it.”

“That image is not helping in the slightest, my sweetness.”

“If we are to have this future you desire, I should know how you do this.”

“If?” He leaned in and whispered, his eyes focused on her lips. “You’ll hear such coarse, rude and tainting content from a man you’re not sure you’ll betroth yourself to.”

“I’m not entirely certain you’re using that word correctly,” Khalila said quietly, with a raised eyebrow. She finally risked drawing a hand up to caress his arm. “But at any rate you are, in good faith, contributing to my knowledge of how to bring sacred pleasure to my future lover. Whomever he may be.”

“Oh, well. If you’re certain its educational.”

“Very.”

Then I… mostly use long, slow strokes. For a while. Sometimes I stop those strokes... to rub the head of my cock with my cupped palm.”

“The head’s more sensitive than the shaft,” she said tentatively.

“Yes,” he nearly gasped, running a thumb over the back of her hand. “But then I go back to long, firm strokes. I build a pleasant rhythm.”

“And do you only pay attention to your cock?”

Khalila’s use of the word herself had the desired effect of giving Dario an expression of both shock and arousal.

“Ah, no. Most encounters I... have with myself, at some point... I’ll brush my fingers across my... balls.”

“Mmm, and that feels good? Is that wet or dry?”

“Mostly dry, on the balls. Just a…” He swallowed hard. “They’re very tender, so just a shallow, dry brush across the skin.”

“And then…”

Dario let out a little puff of air.

“I fear you may find the rest dull to be told. I usually simply stroke faster until the pressure builds to a pleasant release.”

“Mmmm, what would happen if I got involved?”

“...What?”

“What would occur if I were somehow brought in on this job. Perhaps I could… take matters into my own hands.”

Dario looked for a moment like he might climax where he sat.

“Darling,” he gasped, astonished. “You must save those thoughts! That’s not for us today.”

“No, we should save the acts. The acts should remain for our wedding night, an extension of the wedding itself.”

“Is thinking not an act?” he softly asserted.

“Listen. The act of touch binds us together, intimately, because we choose that it will.”

She took his hands in hers and continued.

“Those touches that can create life especially, we - my betrothed and I - we choose that it binds us together. Like my hijab, it’s the intention that creates the sacredness of the action.”

He touched a hand to her cheek as she mentioned hijab, pressing softly against her scarf on that side.

“We can talk about anything before that,” she said, “and not defile that bond. We should in fact, discuss certain things before such a decision as marriage is agreed upon. Additionally... we can touch ourselves, even as we think of each other, and that does not defile, either.”

“Wait, do you think about me?” Dario asked. “When you masturbate? You masturbate?”

“We could also-”

“Wait!” he said. “Answer my question. Wait, no! Finish your sentence. ‘We could also-’? What could we do?”

“Your answers are, yes I masturbate, and…”

“Alright, I reserve the right to ask later about your masturbation habits, exactly as you have extracted information about mine. But what’s the could? What could we do?”

“We could, in theory, touch ourselves in each others’ presence…”

Dario was speechless for a moment. Khalila couldn’t quite figure out how to finish her sentence, either.

“I haven’t even seen you without your scarf, my angel. We haven't kissed.”

“We could keep our clothes on,” she assured him. “And simply… arouse ourselves. I…”

Khalila suddenly felt dizzy.

“It would be educational,” she said with a tiny sigh. It was much too warm, all of the sudden. “I haven’t thought this through,” she chuckled nervously. “It only just occurred to me.”

“Let’s not...” Dario seemed to struggle for the rest of the sentence. “Let’s not leap anywhere you haven’t brought to prayer then,” he said, with concern. “This is too important for you to take steps you’ll regret.”

Khalila felt a familiar worry flash across her heart, again, one she very much wished never bothered her at all.

“It will be quite the wait for you, Dario.”

Dario smiled, bright and easily and casually. 

“We have nothing but time, querida.”

She put a hand on his.

“I fear I have brought you to a brink that I cannot help you leap from,” Khalila said, clearing her own throat. “Shall I give you a moment to yourself?”

Dario shook his head, eyes smiling. “Don’t leave. I’d stay on that brink for ages just to hold your hand in mine.”

“Perhaps we should discuss another topic, then,” she offered.

“Absolutely, yes. That would be quite helpful.”

“You know something, you know so much about my experiences of my faith,” she said. “Have you ever had a religious experience?”

Dario blinked a moment to catch up with her, and then he looked prepared to dive in to one more deep question on a dense topic. As he always did. It was intoxicating that he always kept up with her, when others found her habits of discussion tiresome. She adored him for it.

“Do you mean some moment of meeting God at church?” he asked.

“It doesn’t have to be at church. I would guess it often wasn’t, especially since your family’s religion doesn’t seem to have lodged itself in you all that deeply. No, some other… experience of the numinous. Any mystical moments. Some point where you got a glimpse of some larger meaning to the world, or to existence.”

“You mean besides being in your presence?”

“Yes, Dario, I mean besides overflattering me.”

He chuckled at her, and then made that unguarded face again, where she could watch him look within himself.

“I had an unexplainable experience,” he said. “When I was… ten or eleven years old.”

She smiled. “Oh, please tell me.”

“My family and I, we were on our way to visit some cousin or another. But we were going a different route than our usual. My father had business in Málaga, so we began there and traveled to Cartagena. That took us through an arid region called Tabernas. Hard land, never well populated. Mostly untouched. It was winter, I remember. And what I learned about winter in the Tabernas desert is that it turns a vivid white… not for snow, but for the broad blanket of linnea across it.”

Khalila leaned her chin on a hand and listened.

“‘Nigricans lange’ is the Latin term,” he said, beginning to paint the picture with gestures. “A small, little flower with these swells of limp, velvet petals. But there were thousands of them. Blooming as far as you can see. In every direction.”

Khalila thought she saw Dario's eyes glisten. She worried for a moment he might stop talking, and she ached to understand what was important to him about the flowers.

Dario gave his head a little shake as he spoke again.

“Every flower I’d seen in my life, up until that point... they were meant to be showy. Gaudy. They were meant to be seen, to decorate something, to show something off. To show opulence and wealth and to... elevate someone’s beauty. Flowers are meant to make a statement to someone.”

“Status,” she said. 

“Yes! And here were these humble, extraordinary things. Hiding in this arid place, far away from busy roads, from towns, from everyone. No one planted them. They weren’t meant to be seen. They had no head for status. They didn't exist to be decoration. They existed to be themselves... and not just that. They existed to give of themselves extravagantly. Ostentatiously. Recklessly. To this… this desert air, where no great crowds would marvel over them. But that didn’t matter.”

He shook his head.

“Their status didn’t matter to them at all,” he repeated.

He leaned back and looked into the distance.

“If there is a God of miracles,” he said quietly, “or of love or… something that I should want to crave, I think those flowers knew something of Him.”

Khalila felt heat on her face as she realized the implications of what he was describing.

“It’s important to you. These... desert flowers,” Khalila said, somewhat ruefully.

Dario’s eyes danced, and he laughed in surprise. He hadn’t pieced it together himself, she was certain.

“Do you see how clever I am, then?” Dario asked.

“No, I don’t,” Khalila said. “You should point it out to an endless degree. Forever.”

“Then we are in agreement, madonna.”

She was intoxicated by the vulnerability of his story, and by his smile, and the touch of his hand on hers. And when he leaned in, she didn’t want to stop him. She may, in fact, have leaned in too.

Their lips met, soft and dry and warm. Dario inhaled, clearly savoring her scent and the moment, and then chastely began to pull away.

She leaned in to stop him from ending the kiss… and oh so very softly, she parted her lips and traced the biggest swell of his bottom lip just slightly, with the tip of her tongue. 

He drew in another breath, put a hand to her cheek and brought his tongue to find hers. At first he met and held her modest pressure. Then his tongue fluttered against hers like a breathless bird, and then withdrew, inviting her to probe his mouth to find him again.

Khalila’s head spun as her tongue found his again. He tasted of sweet herbs and promises, of endless soft nights and dreams come true. 

It was a kiss she could live a life in.

When their lips finally parted, Khalila squared her shoulders and drew in a sturdying breath.

“Well, that was illuminating,” she said, studying him.

Dario eyes lit up. 

“And what did you learn, mi cielo?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you that,” Khalila whispered, with a broad smile.

“Of course,” he said, his fingertips just brushing the fabric behind her ear. “Secrets to be kept close to the heart and never spoken. Secrets too big for words.”

“Or an ego too big for words,” she said, teasingly.

He gasped dramatically. “No ego,” he said, now with a smile she wasn’t sure he could wipe from his face if he tried. “Perish the thought. Merely a deep reverence for the sacredness your lips can impart on a lowly pilgrim come to your shrine.” 

“‘Palm to palm, holy palmers kiss,’” she smiled.

“That Scholar Shakespeare knew whereof he spoke,” Dario said. “Though I wouldn’t mind more quotes from plays that don’t end with piles of bodies.”

“A reasonable request, considering our general strokes of luck,” Khalila said. “I’ll work on some comedies next.”

“Yes, see that you do,” he chided in jest. “In between your lecture circuit and your paper publishing and your chairing of too many committees, and your...”

“There’s just so much work to do, Dario,” Khalila said, suddenly quite sad.

“Are you certain you don’t have more ambition than you think, madonna?” he asked, his brow creased with what looked like worry. “This isn’t just duty. You climbed over the rest of us plenty of times to keep your place at the head of our class, and you seemed to enjoy doing it.”

“No, I didn’t. Not entirely,” she said, rubbing her neck that suddenly ached. “I found relief in it, in the maneuverings of a child.”

He stroked her head softly.

“I’d always been the clever one,” she mused, “and there I was in a room full of clever ones. It was terrifying. There’s a reason Jess and I hit it off so quickly. I think we were the quickest to see we were both frauds, in our own ways,” she chuckled.

“You enjoy the challenge, you know you do.”

“Yes,” she said. “But I’m well aware of my own grave limitations, now more than ever. I simply…”

The pain welled up in her throat hot and dry, and cracked her voice as she tried to speak.

“I just want to change this. Dario. This cruel world.”

And then the tears came, as her heart threatened to burst for what she could not even find the words to express fully enough. Even as she moved to flounder for his hand, it was already finding hers, warm and comforting.

“It’s foolish and ill-advised, I know,” she said, uselessly wiping at the flowing tears. “But I can’t believe this is all were destined for. There must be more kindness possible than this.”

“You’re looking for heaven on earth, my love. I assure you, you’re not the first, you won’t be the last. It’s the oldest desire in the world.”

“I can't figure out how to fix all this, Dario,” Khalila whispered. “All that's wrong. Oxford. Thomas. Wolfe. Morgan. So much death and harm. If I’m so clever, why can’t I change it?”

Dario pulled her into his arms and rocked her as she continued to cry.

“We are both just stumbling pilgrims, madonna. And we crave a certain beauty in our world. I think the craving must be enough to sustain us.”

She stroked his hair as she let herself feel terribly sad.

“No wonder you are so fatigued,” he said, “you carry the world on your shoulders. You mustn't try to answer such a question this evening.”

Khalila sniffed back a slowing stream of tears.

“Wait here, just a moment,” Dario said, pulling back to caress her cheek.

He rose up, and Khalila waited with her tears.

He returned with his handkerchief moistened with cool water from the pitcher in the corner.

“Here we are,” he said reassuringly. “Press some cool water to your forehead. Let it smooth away these worries.”

She did, and he was right. His cloth and his care made her feel a little bit better. It was becoming clear to her, though, that she couldn’t keep her eyes open much longer. The fatigue of the week was catching up to her.

“While I don’t want to part company,” he said quietly, stroking her hand, “I must allow you some rest now, I think.”

Khalila found herself suddenly clutching at his arm. Then she looked over at the very comfortable couch. A couch she’d slept on more than once.

“I have one question to ask, Dario. A favor,” she sniffed. “And please understand you may say no, of course. Certainly if it would be… excruciating.”

She gave a quiet, nervous laugh, and he waited patiently for her to speak again.

“I do need sleep,” she said, glancing again at the couch. “And... I don’t want to stop touching you.”

Dario's brow creased with emotion and for an instant she thought he might cry himself.

“Would you permit me to sleep by your side?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Please,” she nodded. 

Dario ran his thumb tenderly across her cheekbone, and offered up that deep, liquid gaze. Khalila took a deep breath and sunk into his eyes, into him, who she was deeply suspicious would be a part of her life for a length of time barely comprehensible to her right now. 

Dario stood, and kissed her on the top of her head, then moved to turn down the lights.

Khalila shrugged off her robe, grateful to have her softest scarf on today, as he returned shedding his own robe and shoes.

“Please understand, dearest gazelle,” he said, “that… ah… parts of me  _ may  _ have responses to your physical proximity that are far less gallant than other parts of me. I assure you-”

“Lay down, Dario. I won’t be offended by any erections.”

“You’re very gracious,” he said, smiling.

He lay across the back of the couch cushions, facing out, and arranged the pillows comfortably for both of their heads. 

She lay down beside him, her back to him, and pulled the blanket from the couch back across the both of them.

As they settled, Dario’s hand rested on her shoulder. As they sorted themselves and stilled, his hand moved away, and Khalila had a ping of desire wondering what he'd do next. 

But Dario found her elbow, and then her hand, and wrapped her arm around her chest, his arm right on top of it, so that he could hold her tight without touching the front of her torso.

He lay so still, and his body pressed to hers in such a firm, gentle way that tension washed out of her muscles easily. Within seconds her tight breathing had softened to match his.

“First thing tomorrow,” Dario whispered in her ear, “You’re telling me how you masturbate.”

She giggled, and couldn’t stop giggling. 

“Duerme, madonna,” he whispered next. “Estas seguro.”

Much more quickly than she expected, Khalila began to float away on her fading giggles, feeling a deep and lasting comfort.

**Author's Note:**

> I spent a fair bit of time on what Khalila and Dario’s boundaries would be at this point, especially regarding clothing. The earliest draft had Khalila taking her scarf off as they lay down; late in the process, I decided she would keep it on. The two key questions for me to understand - as the writer and as a non Muslim - were what I could ascertain of Khalila’s chosen guidelines for living as a Muslim woman and hijabi in this universe, and where Khalila and Dario’s intentions and choices were at *this* specific point in the timeline. I held the following things in mind as I considered this issue.
> 
> 1) The Hanbali school of recognized Muslim scholars (a minority among the experts) considers it appropriate for a man who is serious about a marriage propsal to see as much of the woman as would be seen in her own home -- not just hands and face, as other scholars agree on, but also hair, neck, forearms and calves. Most other members of the discerning body of the ulema do not believe it proper for the man to see her hair or calves. Additionally, all of this should occur with a family member of hers present. 
> 
> 2) Khalila is an unmarried woman living in shared space away from family for the entirety of the first book. Yet she also wears hijab and eats halal. I believe this sets up a dynamic that continues throughout Khalila’s whole arc -- that tradition is profoundly important to her, alongside innovation that supports her independence and her conscience (a dynamic I’ve seen in a fair few Muslims I’ve observed on the more radical left end of the spectrum).
> 
> 3) This is in between I&B and P&F. These two haven’t been to Rome, or to Philadelphia, or to England. They haven’t embarked on their separate povs of The Great Plan. They are not yet to a serious proposal, and that’s an important element of this stage of their rship... though it may be clear from my story that I see them as already quite serious about the possibility of arriving at a proposal. They are both very serious people, in their individual ways, and commit to decisions they arrive at with their whole heart. While Dario has perhaps not yet searched his heart in a thorough way, I believe that by the end of the first book, Khalila is already doing serious work to examine Dario’s fitness as a partner… even more so in private, and as we reach P&F.


End file.
